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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25468750">Another Road To London Taken</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcheaMajuar/pseuds/ArcheaMajuar'>ArcheaMajuar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), Poirot - Agatha Christie, Poirot - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU - Poirot is a priest in Belgium, Blasphemy, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sex, Tenderness, really explicit sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:54:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25468750</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcheaMajuar/pseuds/ArcheaMajuar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternative universe where Hercule Poirot is a priest in Belgium. He meets Hastings there, and... basically this story is about another way of Poirot becoming a detective residing in London with a bit of blasphemy and sinning because I genuinelly wanted to write about it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Hastings/Hercule Poirot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>English is not my mother tongue as I'm from the Czech Republic. There are mistakes in the story, I know, but I don't have anyone around to give me their feedback on the fic, grammar and so on (but if you'd like to let me know about the mistakes, please, do so in the comments bellow or just send me an email (you find it on my profile page), it'd be much appreciated)</p><p>I'm really sorry for the errors, but I hope you'll enjoy this work anyway :)</p><p>1, I do not employ much French regarding Poirot because I can say almost nothing in the language, and I do not wish to put something silly in his mouth because of my ignorance.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In a village close to the outskirts of Brussels, the summers were warm and significantly quiet. It was a very welcome difference to the years of war that had fortunately passed. Father Poirot couldn’t be happier with the situation, and even though he greatly missed his beloved city, the prospect of coming back wasn’t a thinkable one anymore. He had replaced a local father, an elderly man who wished to retire due to his deteriorating condition, and despite pride being a sin, father Poirot was very much satisfied with the popularity he quickly gained among the people who needed hope during the difficult times. Upon establishing his name here, it would be unwise to return to his previous position from which he departed once Belgia was attacked.</p><p>In this village, he survived the war and thought to live happily ever after here with the eager crowd of Christians, clinging to each and every of his words. However, at once, father Poirot found himself to be challenged by the Lord – all his pride, all his vanity and indulgence in the best of what Belgian cuisine could offer – for all of this father Poirot knew he was about to be punished in a quite paradoxical manner.</p><p>It started in an utterly innocent way as father Poirot was walking down the main street, heading for the shop where he picked up a package full of the most delicious Belgian chocolate he was able to afford these days. Once he left the building, he wished to savour that most beautiful late afternoon weather, but he rather opted for staying in the solace of a shadow, thus he decided to walk to the square and have a seat on one of the benches.</p><p>In a span of a few minutes he found himself sitting, a tree shielding him from the sunrays, and as he watched the passer-byes, he nodded in their direction every time somebody greeted him politely. After a while, he didn’t resist the temptation of the chocolate for he also feared it would melt in such a hot temperature.</p><p>Relishing the perfect taste of a piece of that marvellous Belgian chocolate, he kept eyeing his surroundings when his attention was drawn to a young man, looking up the modest fountain in the middle of the square. Poirot was quick to assume the man was a tourist as his apparel was too fancy for anybody local, yet it didn’t belong to any businessmen from Brussels. For a French man, his movements were too relaxed as if his country wasn’t struck so hard by the war. To some extent, he seemed to be enjoying himself.</p><p>Moreover, Poirot was from his position capable of seeing the man’s handsome face and recognizing the high and distinctive cheek-bones to be typical for an English-born. And only now Poirot noticed that the man wasn’t walking in a completely relaxed way, he seemed to be just pretending it as there was a hint of stiffness behind his movements.</p><p>He was uneasy, probably afraid of being spotted as an intruder, Poirot smiled for himself when the young man looked around himself in a manner signalling that he was cautious, probably afraid of being watched, judged, and disapproved of.</p><p>Feeling quite sorry for him, father Poirot rose to his feet and slowly approached the man who noticed him just as they were only a few metres apart. And the smile the man gave Poirot threw the father into a state of eager anticipation of whom this young, handsome Englishman with a disarming smile was.</p><p>“Can I help you, sir?” opted Poirot for speaking English as by that moment he was quite positive about the man’s origin. He was an Englishman whose upbringing and the overall British attitude prevented him from asking for help by himself, but who was so polite and friendly to accept it right away.</p><p>“Oh, yes, please,” exclaimed the foreigner, all hopeful and grateful, “I’m obliged to send a letter, however, I wasn’t able to find a post office… Would you mind pointing me in the right direction?”</p><p>Poirot eyed the man, being quite amused as he apparently knew very little of French because exactly two signposts were located on the square. Or maybe he just wasn’t the smartest one, Poirot mused as the man’s blue eyes were of a very beautiful colour, yet so innocent, so naïve, that he found himself to be inclined to the second option.</p><p>“I’d be pleased to walk you there if you do not object. I admit the post office is a bit in a hiding spot from the common view,” said Poirot finally as it was true, even though he supposed that almost everybody would be able to navigate there having seen the signpost. But he didn’t want to embarrass the visitor in the slightest, so when the Englishman agreed, they started for their destination together.</p><p>“Thank you very much for your assistance,” the Englishman was obviously relieved when sending the letter and returning back in front of the building to join his current guide. Smiling, yet he still uneasy when tilting his head to one side and guessing, “…Father?”</p><p>“This is correct, mon ami,” nodded Poirot who felt like he would’ve never grown tired of this man’s friendly smile. “I am Father Hercule Poriot. I am pleased to meet you,” he extended his hand, bearing in mind that an Englishman wouldn’t be thrilled about the continental way of greeting.</p><p>“Captain Arthur Hastings,” clasped the young man Poirot’s hand in his, his handshake firm, yet gentle. “Currently on vacation, otherwise I’m at Lloyd’s, but… how have you noticed that I’m a foreigner?” he cocked his head in puzzlement, however, Poirot saw clearly that he was very much amused and impressed and far from being suspicious.</p><p>“You stood out of the crowd,” shrugged Poirot, unwilling to reveal he was, indeed, watching the young man for a considerable amount of time before he approached him. “How come you have chosen our little village for your holiday?”</p><p>To Poirot’s growing interest, Hastings shrugged as well.</p><p>“I felt like it,” he smiled, emanating such innocence and frankness it caught Poirot off guard. “It seemed to be peaceful here… and the local architecture simply convinced me it’ll be nice to spend some days away from the rush of the city. It’s a positively picturesque place, this village. The mill, the fountain, the church…”</p><p>“Would you like to see it from the inside?” offered Poirot readily.</p><p>“Well…” hesitated the young man, looking uncomfortable, yet so sweet with his cheeks getting a subtle shade of pink, however, Poirot reprimanded himself not to notice such things as it was highly inappropriate for a man of… for a man, he corrected his thoughts, and even though there was slight irritation caused by his reaction emerging in his chest, he kept these feelings aside and flashed Hastings with a small, understanding smile.</p><p>“Are you not a religious person, eh? It doesn’t matter, though, you’re still welcome there,” he assured the man who shook his head, but looked pleased.</p><p>“I was raised in a Protestant family, but… truth be told, we didn’t tend to attend services often. Maybe twice a year,” shrugged Hastings again, still slightly ashamed, but it was apparent he was getting relaxed as he learnt that his companion wasn’t about to judge him. “I’m only afraid whether my presence in your church wouldn’t be… offending? It’s a Catholic church, I believe…?”</p><p>Refraining from beaming at Hastings was out of question as Poirot was utterly touched by the young man’s considerate thinking, making it clear then that it wasn’t a problem as all.</p><p>“All I demand from the visitors is being respectful, which I see, isn’t something you’d struggle with,” he flashed Hastings with a smile and he truly noticed his heartbeat getting erratic at the absolutely charming grin Hastings gave him. His blue eyes were full of delight, looking at Poirot with an undeniably growing fondness.</p><p>It had been quite a long time since Poirot had been so enamoured… no, not enamoured! Just interested! Yes, he was very much interested in this gentle young man whose manners were appropriate for Poirot’s taste as this Hastings wasn’t even cold as the Englishmen Poirot had encountered in the past.</p><p>No, Hastings was friendly and open, smiling and talkative, and there wasn’t just the slightest hint of suspicion towards him as for being from the continent. He seemed he didn’t think of it at all, and as they were talking so freely, Poirot was quite convinced that his companion was a very kind man, but definitely not the smartest one as he spoke also about some almost indiscreet information concerning the company he was working for. It wasn’t like Poirot would ever consider using it against anybody, but not everybody was a priest, not everybody took in confidence everything Hastings would tell him.</p><p>As they arrived to the church, the both of them entered and Poirot let Hastings to enjoy the atmosphere and the view.</p><p>“It’s so pleasantly cool in here,” he breathed in the cold air, hands at his hips as he was looking around.</p><p>“Sometimes too cool. I’m positively freezing in here during winters,” remarked Poirot with a touch of grumpiness resonating within his voice, which amused Hastings as he smiled at Poirot, yet the Father wasn’t irked as the young man’s blue eyes were so soft when looking at him.  </p><p>“Are you laughing, young man? Just wait when you’ll get older,” Poirot warned Hastings in good humour.</p><p>“Older?” blinked Hastings in confusion, but a smile was still splayed upon his lips. “You don’t seem much older than I am,” he asserted sincerely, however, as Poirot just kept silently watching him, he moved on with the visit and started ogling the beautifully painted ceiling, mosaic windows, the modest statues at the front…</p><p>He basically got lost in the moment while Poirot looked after him, seemingly peacefully standing at one of the benches in the back, but his mind was running. Hope… that damned hope filled his whole chest even though he desperately tried not to think about it, to set such thoughts aside, but it was no use. His heart was beating violently, fuelled by the alluring idea of Hastings not paying attention to any age difference, moreover, that he noticed him in such a way!</p><p>He notice him as a human being, as a… as a man. The locals, the regulars, all of them saw him as Father Poirot, as a priest who was here to guide them on their lives, to help them, to give advice, and Poirot was satisfied with that, he loved being a priest, but on the other hand… Sometimes… sometimes he wished for more – the more he gave up when he became a priest, living in celibate. And for the years in Brussels, he wasn’t tempted just once! However, who could’ve thought that he would meet such an admirable young man in this little village, who could’ve thought that coincidence would lead Hastings to spend vacation here, looking for a post office, who could’ve thought that Poirot would be the one to help him…</p><p>Shaking his head to get rid of these disturbing and absolutely inappropriate thoughts, he ceased from standing motionlessly, and ventured to Hastings who was sitting in the first row, looking up to the wooden cross in front of him.</p><p>Poirot wondered what was on his mind when he saw the man’s face, all plunged into deep thoughts, so he just quietly sat next to him, but dear Lord! he had to force himself not to sit too close to him, which his treacherous heart desired, beating loudly and begging to be allowed to fulfil its purpose – it was begging to be allowed to love.</p><p>But that was ridiculous, frowned Poirot as he simply didn’t understand how come he fell for Hastings so quickly, however… however from a mere look at the man from the corner of his eyes, he gathered the answer.</p><p>In the dim light, the only bright ray of the upcoming sunset sneaking from the ajar window illuminated Hastings’ light brown hair, and together with his handsome, aristocratic features, the young man resembled an angel. It took Poirot’s breath away how heavenly beautiful his companion was, his bluest eyes innocently looking up, his lips curving slightly in a tender smile as he admired the interior of the church.</p><p>Despite Poirot was fascinated by the sight, in the back of his mind a small thought nagged him for Hastings sure looked like an angel, but from Poirot’s point of view, his attractiveness, his most beautiful nature shaped itself into embodiment of temptation, being not the heaven sent, but the hell sent.</p><p>But it wasn’t possible, reproached Poirot himself once again. Hastings definitely had nothing in common with the Devil. He just happened to be… to be exactly that kind of human being Poirot was prone to fall for. Probably it was just a challenge, Poirot assumed, averting his gaze from Hastings and fixing his eyes upon the cross.</p><p>Yes, a challenge he must endure… which wasn’t about to get any easier as Poirot dared peeking at Hastings once again, noticing the young man’s cheeks were slightly flushed. Could he be feeling the same, Poirot wondered before he was able to stop the train of the daring thoughts, watching as Hastings gave a quick chuckle.</p><p>“I only… I only remembered the organist who used to play in the church I used to visit when I was a kid,” he explained the reason for his sudden cheerfulness, turning his eyes to Poirot, who was sitting next to him. “Back then, I thought it hilarious that the organist tended to fall from his chair... He was drunk almost all the time,” he shrugged, a bit ashamed he was laughing at such a matter, but Father Poirot didn’t reprimand him.</p><p>“I see,” he nodded thoughtfully. “but one thing is falling down off the chair, the other is bashing a head into the keys and startling the whole congregation during a deathly silence.”</p><p>“I ignored it, but was on the verge of lashing out and laughing hard at once,” admitted Poirot as Hastings’ smile widened, delighted sparks shining in his honest eyes.</p><p>“You’re a very funny companion, Father,” kept Hastings smiling at the man of cloth who literally beamed at him, being ecstatic that Hastings appreciated his company.</p><p>“I’m glad to hear that,” Poirot reciprocated the young man’s smile, suggesting, “How long are you staying here?”</p><p>“I’m not really sure… Three, four days maybe?” he offered the answer. “I wired my boss that I’m taking vacation, but that I’m at his services as soon as he needs me either in Brussels or London.”</p><p>“So you reside in London, yes?” arose Poirot’s interested once again, and when Hastings nodded, he added with a hint of melancholy, “I’ve always wanted to go there…”</p><p>“As a visitor?”</p><p>“Possibly,” answered Poirot, secretive about his real motives as he wished to keep them to himself until he was sure it could be done. Noticing that Hastings was eyeing him questioningly, he decided to change the subject. “Would you like to see more of our village? There are other two or three places you might wish to see since you’re about to spend here some time.”</p><p>“Why, that sounds delightful,” exclaimed Hastings, already thrilled. “And you will accompany me?”</p><p>“If you don’t mind, then I will,” smiled Poirot at the young man who flashed him with another grateful smile when he was assured not to wander around on his own – at least that was the explanation Poirot forced himself to believe in. “What about nine o’clock?”</p><p>“Here?” asked Hastings and upon Poirot’s agreement, he stood up, “Splendid, I’ll be looking forward to it.”</p><p>“Likewise,” smiled Poirot and rose to his feet as well. “And do not be late!”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” laughed the young man at Poirot’s request. “I’m a morning bird. I’ll be here on time,” he assured the other man and with a joyfully said goodbye, he headed outside of the church, leaving Poirot behind.</p><p>But the priest didn’t feel sad for being left behind and alone. Not this time as he knew they would meet up again tomorrow, and despite his doubts whether the second meeting would be a good idea, a happy little smile was playing upon his lips as the feeling of hope was stretching throughout his chest.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>1, I've updated the number of chapters as I'm quite sure there'll be seven of them.<br/>2, This chapter and the 4th one are quite short, but don't you worry, the other ones are much more extensive :)<br/>3, ehm... I've already finished a sex scene for this fiction... Damn, it's so explicit and long... If you're a fan of such scenes, you definitely have something to look forward to :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I say, Father, I would have never anticipated such a quality restaurant here, in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing but a mill around,” exclaimed Hastings once he finished his meal they had once they stopped during their journey across the village surroundings.</p><p>Poirot only smiled, pleased that Hastings appreciated his choice of restaurant, but as he knew English cuisine, he couldn’t be sure whether Hastings was capable of recognizing a really quality food. Therefore, he remained quiet, indulging himself further in his delicious meal Truth be told, he might’ve underestimated the situation for he ordered numerous dishes, forgetting for a moment they were about to take another long walk</p><p>“Hastings, what would you say to have a cup of coffee and take a seat in the garden?” suggested Poirot, having his satisfied stomach on mind.</p><p>“Why not,” Hastings shrugged, smiling slightly. He looked utterly relaxed and at peace, which Poirot genuinely adored as he wasn’t used to similar behaviour around himself. “The weather is rather pleasant, so I see no issue in that, Father.”</p><p>Beaming at him, Poirot hesitated for a second in his chewing, and once he swallowed, he was decided.</p><p>“Hastings, please, when we are not around the church, call me Poirot. I’m not even wearing my cassock.”</p><p>“I’m honoured,” said Hastings and he certainly meant it as Poirot felt the warmth of his eyes, making his heart throb.</p><p>Once they relocated to the backyard of the restaurant and the soothing smell of a fresh cup of coffee tickled their noses, Poirot noticed that Hastings was thinking of something, yet not sure whether he should ask as the Englishman was casting friendly, but insecure looks at the man of cloth.</p><p>“What is it, Hastings? What bothers your mind?” he asked gently, eyeing the younger man with interest.</p><p>Hastings grew a bit ashamed as Poirot saw through his so easily, but he recomposed quickly and broached the subject Poirot expected to be touched on sooner.</p><p>“Where have you learnt your English so well? I mean… I’m quite bad at French myself and I was so happy to hear my mother tongue here...” He said, eyes full of gratitude.</p><p>“I’ve always been a quick learner,” was the answer. “I read a lot in French and once I was able to, I read in English, too. And there was also my friend among young priests who knew English brilliantly for being born there, so we used to practise together,” Poirot explained to the English man, trying to ignore the memories surfacing and the heat coming up to his cheeks when remembering Jules…</p><p>Looking down into his cup of coffee, by the corner of his eyes Poirot assured himself that Hastings was satisfied with the answer, yet his features realized a minor sign of suspicion. But then he gazed into the distance, relaxing again.</p><p>“You didn’t polish your French during the war?” it was Poirot’s turn for a question to which Hastings reacted with a surprised glance.</p><p>“How…?” he narrowed his eyes, but then he just shook his head with a brief smile. “I guess you’re simply marvellous at estimating people,” he grinned before opting for giving the proper reply. “But no. In the past, I’ve met maybe three Frenchmen, but neither of them was really into discussing things with an Englishman. Maybe were I already a Captain… Yet I was only a Lieutenant back then.”</p><p>Poirot nodded, taking in the information as the both of them plunged into silence that subsequently did not turned awkward. Quite the opposite as Poirot leaned against the chair, sipping on his coffee with Hastings at his side, doing the same. Occasionally, they smiled at each other, assuring the other one that the peace and quiet were welcome, and Poirot was left in awe when realizing that he hadn’t experienced such a content atmosphere for whole years.</p><p>No, since Jules, there was nobody who would enjoy his company so openly, and somebody who wouldn’t irk Poirot at once. As if they somehow… matched, thought Poirot, shuddering involuntarily at the sheer power of such a simple idea.</p><p>In similar fashion they spent the rest of the day, returning to the church together.</p><p>“Are you alright, old thing?” asked Hastings rather amusedly when Poirot sighed heavily, finally being home.</p><p>“Old thing?” raised Poirot his eyebrows. “If I remember correctly it were you who argued that there was no remarkable age gap between us.”</p><p>“Yes… yes, I did. It...” Hastings stuttered, his cheeks suddenly turning pink as he was babbling an apology. “It’s… it’s only…”</p><p>“Calm down, mon ami,” smiled Poirot reassuringly, putting his broad hand upon Hastings’ shoulder. “I know, it’s an English expression suggesting your… affection,” he added softly, worrying whether it wasn’t too much to be said aloud.</p><p>Yet Hastings… Hastings’ face was utterly flushed as he quietly nodded, his eyes unable to meet Poirot’s anymore.</p><p>“Do not stress yourself, my dear Hastings, I’m fond of you as well,” said Poirot, quite baffled by his own courage, quite taken aback that Hastings agreed that there really was some affection between them. “What about we would lunch together tomorrow? I’ll cook something special.”</p><p>“I’d be glad to come,” Hastings seemed to be relieved and at most thrilled when accepting the invitation. “Would you allow me to bring us a dessert?”</p><p>Contemplating the idea and the danger of Hastings buying something outrageously overpriced and tasteless, he remained silent for a second, but as he kept looking into the bluest puppy-like eyes in the world, he conceded.</p><p>“Of course, you can bring us a dessert,” he said, withdrawing his hand from Hastings’ shoulder, and then they finally bid each other goodbye.</p><p>Until the next noon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The promised longer chapter is here :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Hastings entered the church, he bumped into a girl who was just leaving. Apologizing, he kept looking at her for a moment because she was rather handsome with her blue eyes and red hair, but once she vanished, Hastings noticed Poirot’s presence.</p><p>“Quite charming women you have in your modest village,” he remarked as he casted one last look at the girl before he greeted Poirot properly and handed him a box of chocolate. “Our dessert.”</p><p>“Merci, mon ami,” answered the man of cloth, stepped aside to let Hastings in, and then he leaded him to him rooms. “I see you paid attention to my tastes,” he said, being pleased by Hastings’ choice of dessert, yet still there was a pang of pain caused by Hastings’ reaction to young Gabrielle.</p><p>“I did,” Hastings agreed, hint of pride echoing in his voice, and despite the disturbing thoughts, Poirot was amused. “I’ve also noticed you seem to be quite a gourmet, therefore, I’m positively eager to learn what you’ve prepared for us today.”</p><p>Certainly, the man knew how to approach him, thought Poirot at the praise. Yes, he relished quality meals, but it felt at least a bit surprising that Hastings saw it after only two days. Wasn’t it too ostentatious for a priest? Wasn’t he just… greedy? Balancing maybe on the verge of gluttony?</p><p>Shaking his head, he tried to get rid of such thoughts that were pursuing him for years, however, he had never succeeded in doing anything with his passion for delicious dishes.</p><p>“Who was the girl I’ve met in front of the church?” raised Hastings a question that drew Poirot away from his failure, but causing him further pain, enraging him in fact, yet his anger wasn’t aimed at the poor man, but at himself, for not being able to control his emotions, for not being able to tell his heart that as a priest he was not allowed to fall in love… moreover, with a man… handsome, kind, and overall stunning man…</p><p>“She’s a daughter of the local school principal,” murmured Poirot in a reply as he showed Hastings where he could sit down, “I need a few minutes for some final preparations, but talk if you wish. I’m listening,” he then assured Hastings, failing to smile, as he was already bracing himself for Hastings’ possible infatuation with the girl, which would, in the end, help his own feelings to get buried at the bottom of his heart…</p><p>…however… however Hastings didn’t do such a thing.</p><p>“Interesting,” mused Hastings instead of that. “I dare say, she’ll find a fine husband in no time!”</p><p>“You wouldn’t be interested?” asked Poirot rather the meat he was about to put on the plates than Hastings who genuinely confused him by his words.  </p><p>“I might be, but I’ve never been able to maintain my relationships with women,” Poirot heard a shrug heard in his voice and Father’s heart throbbed with inexorable hope.</p><p>“So you… do not have a girl, yes?” Poirot kept his tone even, calm, with the slightest shadow of interest, but the corners of his lips involuntarily twitched upwards.</p><p>“No, I don’t,” said Hastings and he seemed to be more amused by Poirot’s question than saddened. “I’m quite free as a bird, slightly bound only by my job, so… were you ever considering a trip to England, I’d be glad to repay you the hospitality and walk you through the streets of London.”</p><p>To Poirot’s ears, it sounded like an invitation which brought a pleased twinkle to his eyes, “This is very nice of you, Hastings. You live on your own then?” he said, insinuating that the man could’ve been living in a family mansion.</p><p>“Yes, indeed,” nodded Hastings, watching with growing hunger the full plates Poirot placed on the table before he seated himself next to the Englishman. “I do get sometime lonely in my small city flat, but… only sometimes,” locked Hastings their eyes as the subtlest hint of sadness reached his blue depths. “Don’t you? I mean, don’t you get lonely sometimes?”</p><p>The look Hastings was giving him, the atmosphere overflowing with mutual fondness, robbed Poirot of ability to speak for a short moment, leaving him only to savour it, to appreciate it.</p><p>“Sometimes, yes, I do,” hesitated Poirot with his answer while nonverbally offering Hastings a glass of white wine, which the younger man accepted, and as Poirot once again spotted the sheer care and curiosity written in every Hastings’ feature, he lay down his defence mechanism, and continued with all sincerity, “I have my people, my congregation who are at most loyal to me, yet, Hastings, I still wonder whether I haven’t chosen the wrong path.”</p><p>“The wrong path?” cocked Hastings his head.</p><p>“I’ve always wanted to be a priest or a policeman, potentially a detective, and the result of my dilemma… well, you can see which option I’ve selected. I sometimes wonder what could’ve been had I went for a different path,” he sent a little, almost an apologetic smile toward Hastings, however, the young man was staring at him with a wide grin. “What have I managed to amuse you with?”</p><p>“The coincidence, Poirot,” he said, not really remembering that he should’ve probably called his companion Father as they were in the church, but other thoughts were occupying his mind at the moment. “It’s always been my dream to be a detective… an amateur detective or maybe his assistant, but… I’d love to play a part in the whole exciting process of investigation.”</p><p>And by that moment, Poirot forgot everything about the girl. Happily beaming at Hastings, he was ever so grateful the young man shared his dream with him, moreover, he didn’t perceive it entirely silly. When looking in Hastings’ eyes, he experienced such a powerful influx of affection he was suddenly sure that he was so madly in love with Hastings like he had never been with anyone.</p><p>There was something beautiful and unique about this Englishman who seemingly accepted him in every possible way. He was having fun with him, being open to him, yet… yet Poirot heard way too loudly that one reproachful voice, telling him how inappropriately this situation could turn, and how Hastings could even like him if he followed his inner ideas, his inner desires that were strongly against the oath he had taken as a priest.</p><p>“We’d better start eating,” he urged Hastings who might’ve had similar thoughts as his stomach gave a loud roar, making the both of them chuckle quietly.</p><p>And as Poirot felt so relaxed in Hastings’ presence and the praises of the meal the young man expressed, upon tidying up the table and washing the plates, Poirot opted for a question, “Are you in rush, Hastings?”</p><p>“Why, Poirot, I have all the time in the world,” smiled Hastings and by the lively glint within Poirot’s brown eyes, he could be sure that he voiced the best possible answer he could have. “What do you have on your mind?”</p><p>With a small movement of his lips, he commanded himself to forget the first thoughts surfacing once Hastings said that, and pointed his attention to another topic.</p><p>“You’ve seemed intrigued by the idea of being a detective, and to be honest with you, mon ami, I’ve participated on a few cases as an… outside worker? Something like that,” explained Poirot, watching Hastings’ reaction, but once the young man’s eyes shone with fascination, shortly followed by admiration, Poirot suggested, “I’d like to show you the cases I have contributed to.”</p><p>“Poirot, you are full of surprises!” Hastings exclaimed, gawking at Poirot before he enthusiastically agreed, “Of course, I’d love to learn more about you… and the cases you’ve worked on!”</p><p>Although Poirot noticed very well the small hesitation in Hastings’ speech, he didn’t allow himself to get lost in hope and he rather focused on the task, heading for his table and retrieving a book in a black cover. Seating himself next to Hastings again, he placed his glassed upon his nose, opened the book, and listed to the page with his very first cases.</p><p>Hastings watched and listened eagerly, positively mesmerized by the amount of help Poirot provided Brussels police forces with, and he was absolutely taken aback by Poirot’s method.</p><p>“You have never been at the scene, you haven’t seen the victim, and still you were able to… to… Poirot, you basically solved the case for them!” seemed Hastings to be so shocked, he stared at Poirot with his mouth agape, which undeniably fuelled the little man’s ego.</p><p>“Everything is about those little details policemen are prone to overlook, but you know, mon ami, it would not have been possible to aid them hadn’t I had a friend at the police. He was willing to show me the transcriptions of the interviews, moreover, he granted me with his personal opinions on the suspects, and then… My little grey cells got the work done,” smiled Poirot at Hastings whom kept staring at him, yet his lips were already shaped in a cheerful smile.</p><p>“I say, Poirot, you’re a genius,” he admitted, having nothing but admiration written in his face. “You should’ve really become a detective.”</p><p>“Maybe,” conceded the man of cloth, looking back down on his book of crime. “Maybe, but I felt that I was needed more at the church. At least, I felt that in the past, thinking that I should teach people to be good rather than pursuing the wrongdoers… But sometimes, Hastings, sometime I do try hard, yet still I’m bound to fail.”</p><p>“You mean that… somebody of your group has turned criminal?” asked Hastings carefully as if not to upset Poirot by his question.</p><p>“You can put it like that,” Poirot nodded, chill running down his spine at the thought of the incident. “It was one of the reasons I left Brussels. I hoped that here, in the village, there would be less of violence, threats, and simply less of evil…” he added quietly, not being sure why he was talking about it with Hastings, but… but all the evil was so vividly contrasted by Hastings’ kindness and gentility that Poirot had to voice it to fully realize it. In the end, he smiled an unhappy smile at the younger man, “My estimation wasn’t wrong on all levels, yet… I have my doubts.”</p><p>Hastings didn’t say a word for a while, thinking.</p><p>“The doubts you have… are they connected to your occupation?” he said finally, gauging Poirot cautiously, however, Poirot could see the restlessness within his eyes.</p><p>And the little man knew very well what was going on in the Englishman’s mind, which sent a hot wave down his spine, however, accompanied by a surge of unpleasantly heated guilt. He wasn’t allowed to let it happen, no, he…</p><p>“Yes, Hastings, just my occupation,” he answered when he tamed his emotions once again, “Not my faith.”</p><p>Nodding, Hastings plunged back into his thoughts, but as the clocks rang four o’clock, he stood up.</p><p>“I’ve had a great time, Poirot, but I’m afraid, I shall depart as I’m awaiting a phone call,” he explained with a slightly apologetic look. “I need to make sure whether I’m not needed in Brussels. Or London.”</p><p>“Of course, Hastings, I’m glad you’ve come,” rose Poirot to his feet as well, “but I cannot let you go like this,” he said resolutely, and without further ado, he stepped closer to the Englishman and reached for his tie. “It must be symmetrical,” he murmured, focusing on narrowing the tie, but once his attention slipped from it, it wasn’t possible to refrain from hearing Hastings’ accelerated breathing, and in other words… how close to each other they suddenly were.</p><p>“Thank you,” Hastings said under his breath, and as Poirot looked up, he found his blue eyes being surprised, but warm with affection. “Thank you, my friend.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Poirot said automatically, yet he felt like he was glued to the floor and magnetized by Hastings’ eyes, his heartbeat accelerating, his breath getting shallow.</p><p>Only after a few seconds did he remember that Hastings needed to go, so he stepped aside and headed for the door to gain some time to recover, and as he held the door open, hinting to Hastings that he could leave anytime he wanted, he spotted that Hastings was frozen in the place the same way he was just a moment ago.</p><p>“Come to see me tomorrow, after the service,” Poirot said hastily and reproached himself internally right away. It was so clear that there was something between them and he was supposed to send Hastings away, and preferably never see him again, but he found himself too weak to do it. He was too weak to resist this gorgeous Englishman…</p><p>The gleam of joy in Hastings’ eyes when he realized they were going to meet up again… It made Poirot’s heart swell at the sight of the young man, being so unabashedly thrilled that he even forgot his reserved and so English nature.</p><p>“I will, Poirot,” Hastings nodded with a bright smile, “So… till then,” he added, biding him goodbye and leaving Poirot’s room, literally rushing away from the church so he wouldn’t miss the phone call.</p><p>And Poirot… Poirot slowly closed the door and as in a dream, he sat down in his armchair. His eyes were burning, his soul aching, his heart longing. What had he done to get in such a simultaneously terrible and thrilling situation? How come he deserved such temptation, how… how come that on his way through the life, he had to encounter such an innocent soul, such a brave, kind man… such an embodiment of goodness that was paradoxically destined to lead him to his doom?</p><p>Poirot felt himself falling. Falling for Hastings, falling apart, falling out with his oath... And despite the silent tears, wetting his cheeks, despite he was flushed with embarrassment and sick with guilt and anger, he still knew that had he and Hastings remained so close just a few seconds longer, he would’ve cupped the younger man’s face and kissed him passionately…</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>According to his schedule, father Poirot devoted his next service to the topic of brotherhood, discussing the importance of helping the needy ones. He had no troubles with focus, yet during his speech, he was still coming up with subjects for the service that would be more fitting his current condition. Guilt and betrayal would make a splendid start, he mused internally, adding temptation to the bunch as he noticed Hastings, sitting in the last row.</p><p>He was immensely pleased to see the young man here, however after their last meeting, Poirot wasn’t sure he could curb his emotions anymore, so he gave Hastings one subtle smile, and then paid attention to him no more to remain concentrated on his work.</p><p>But once he was finished and the congregation shuffled towards the door, with slightly bittersweet ache within his chest, Poirot watched as Hastings didn’t followed them suit. Instead of it, he ventured rather slowly, thoughtfully to the front, approaching Poirot with a tentative look in his eyes.</p><p>“Pardon me whether it is inappropriate, but please let me thank you for your service,” said Hastings sheepishly as if he didn’t really know how to shape his feelings into words. “It.. it spoke to me. Quite a lot. I say, Father Poirot, it positively rekindled memories of my comrades in arms and made me see how good and loyal companions they were.”</p><p>Despite everything Poirot could have doubts about, he beamed at the younger man.</p><p>“That is very good, Hastings, I am glad you’ve taken something from my speech even though you’re not a particularly religious man,” he said, pride and praise resonating within his voice, and while looking at the Englishman, he thought for a second that Hastings was about to tell him something else as he seemed utterly eager to share his views.</p><p>“What about this, mon ami?” Poirot simpered, amused by Hastings’ enthusiasm to discuss the topic, but being too… flushed… yes, the young man’s cheeks were flushed and the glint within his eyes… Poirot’s heart was thundering, however, nothing could’ve been done about that. He knew it and he desperately needed to acknowledge it. Still, nobody could condemn them for talking serious problems over some tisane. “Today I have to attend to my duties, but come to see me tomorrow morning. We shall discuss some of your views on the issue, or whatever might bother you.”</p><p>“I do not wish to keep you from your duties,” Hastings nodded right away. “At all, I mean, so… if you’re busy tomorrow as well, I…”</p><p>“Nonsense, Hastings,” made Poirot an impatient gesture, but as Hastings didn’t seem to be convinced, Poirot braced himself, almost timidly placed his palm upon Hastings’ shoulder, and tilted his head. “You’re not keeping me from anything as it is myself who should worry to waste your time, mon ami. I should feel obliged that you keep coming…” and providing me with that fleeting feeling of consolation that I’m not entirely alone, added Poirot gloomily in his head, but every single similar thought was dispersed in the very next moment.</p><p>Absolutely touched, Hastings smiled affectionately at his friend and possibly without rethinking it, he grabbed Poirot’s hand from his shoulder, grasping it gently, squeezing in apprehension, and covering with his other hand. His blue eyes shining with unceasing eagerness, this time to assure him that he treasured Poirot’s company, and Poirot wasn’t able to tear his haze away from Hastings’ features, emanating so much fondness that it was almost unbearable.</p><p>“I...” the younger man started, gulped, but then just nodded. “I’ll return to you. Tomorrow,” he breathed out the last word as a promise that aimed right at Poirot’s hopelessly enamoured heart, aching for having more of Hastings than his hands, aching for feeling those pink lips, aching for kissing them, for whispering endearments to the sweet-natured Englishman who was gazing at Poirot with...</p><p>The emotion gleaming within his eyes couldn’t have been interpreted as nothing else but love.</p><p>And still, Hastings didn’t step forward, didn’t rush anything as Poirot would’ve thought was his style. But no. Respectfully, he squeezed Poirot’s hand for the last time, waited for a quiet assent of their plan, and then he retreated from the church.</p><p>He didn’t push in the slightest, pondered Poirot Hastings’ consideration, being in awe about it. Hastings didn’t push because he was well aware of their… positions. Yet he didn’t pretend he wasn’t… touched.</p><p>Poirot pointed his eyes towards the skies once again, asking why such an angel was sent to temp him to sin, and why the angel had to be so handsome, so irresistible…</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>While preparing speech for another sermon, the thoughts of Father Poirot kept failing to be organized as usual. They were running in different directions only to meet up at the memory of Hastings’ bright blue eyes, looking fondly at him.</p><p>Rubbing his hands together, Poirot still could feel the heat of Hastings’ palms, and the ache within his chest, the longing, the want… he couldn’t shake it off even when he tried to focus on work, even when he tried to occupy himself with prayers.</p><p>He begged for forgiveness for his sinful thoughts, he asked the Lord for help in this matter, but in the end, he sat in the armchair, downcast, aware that only one thing could save him – not seeing Hastings ever again. But just the prospect of it casted him further in a state of despair, his hands were wet and shaking, his heart suffering.</p><p>It felt like anything he would do, he would hurt. There was no right way. Well, according to his faith, to his oath, there was a right way, but Poirot, with his eyes tight shut and hands clasped in a quiet prayer, knew he wasn’t strong enough to follow that road. His whole soul was burning with emotions so powerful, so enthralling that he sensed he was already doomed.</p><p>He was in love with Hastings, and in the eyes of the Lord, he must’ve looked pathetically weak to fall for somebody so fast. He didn’t fight enough, he was even willing to sin, he was a failure of the path he had chosen…</p><p>Yet somewhere deep in his soul, there was a calm place with a solid ground where Poirot could hide himself, where he could find some comfort. It was a place of rational thinking, reassuring him that he had plenty of options what to do next, and despite being tainted in the eyes of the Lord, he could be beneficial to humanity in another way.</p><p>With such almost hopeful thoughts, he got slightly startled at the loud, incessant rap on the door of his rooms. Assuming it must’ve been urgent hadn’t the person waited before the church and ventured to his private rooms, he rushed to let the visitor in only to find quite ruffled Hastings, standing at the doorframe.</p><p>“What is it, mon ami?” asked Poirot as he noticed how distressed the young man looked, and therefore, he immediately urged him to step inside. Closing the door behind him, he faced Hastings who seemed to have a good reason to return earlier than they had agreed. It was still the very same day they had parted.</p><p>“I am deeply sorry for disturbing you so late. I hope I…” was Hastings about to blurt out a few more apologies, but Poirot just shook his head.</p><p>“Stop being sorry, Hastings, and tell me what brings you here,” he reasoned, putting his palm upon Hastings’ shoulder to calm him down at least a bit.</p><p>“I’ve received a telegram, explaining my boss needs me in London, so I shall return as soon as possible, which… which makes it that I have to leave by a train tomorrow. Before noon,” Hastings poured out the information, breathing heavily as if he ran here…</p><p>It touched Poirot that Hastings’ first thought was to tell him about his departure, but it subsequently commenced an unavoidable wave of sadness, washing over Poirot at the idea of Hastings’ leaving.</p><p>“I suppose, I could’ve told you tomorrow as we planned to meet, but…” Hastings elaborated, insecure because of Poirot’s silence.</p><p>“It is alright, Hastings,” patted Poirot Hasting’s shoulder, trying to smile at him kindly. “I understand you wanted to inform me so I wouldn’t look forward to our discussion much.”</p><p>“Well… yes,” Hastings nodded, but then he once again reached for Poirot’s hand, joining them before him, and looking right into Poirot’s eyes, he added, “and I couldn’t bear the idea of not saying proper goodbye to you. Tomorrow, it would be in rush, but… you… you deserve more than that.”</p><p>The sweet nature of the man struck Poirot right at his heart which was already challenged by the news Hastings presented him with. Of course, he knew that Hastings was going to leave at some point, but he didn’t expect the day was approaching so quickly. Moreover… moreover holding their hands didn’t seem to be the proper goodbye Hastings’ was talking about, and it definitely didn’t resemble the way Poirot wished to part with him as well.</p><p>Staring into the depths of sadness, regret, and mesmerizing affection, the look and the features of Hastings’ face were being buried into Poirot’s mind, and the love for him being the most intense feeling he had ever felt for anybody.</p><p>“Goodbye, my friend,” Hastings whispered, emotions getting the better of him, too, which gave Poirot’s self-control the last, fatal blow as seeing an Englishman so emotional… it wasn’t something Poirot could brush aside, and therefore, he opted for the continental way of expressing goodbye, despite he was aware that it might’ve caught Hastings off guard.</p><p>Leaning towards the younger man, he had to stand on his tiptoes to reach his face, and placing a brief kiss upon one of his cheeks, he very well acknowledge the heat emanating from the Englishman, the pleasant scent of his perfume, and the smoothly shaved skin under his lips. Disentangling his hand from Hastings’ in order to get better access to his other cheek, Poirot placed his palm on Hastings’ chest, and once his lips touched the skin, he almost froze up as he felt Hastings’ now free hands being placed on his own shoulders.</p><p>And Poirot noticed that not only didn’t Hastings display any signs of discomfort when being kissed, he also tentatively held Poirot close to him, so when he finished the continental way of saying goodbye, he didn’t have to return to his previous position. No, he remained standing very close to the younger man, looking up to his face, and trembling slightly at the heat between them, at the intimate proximity, at the tender smile tinting Hastings’ lips, yet… yet an undeniable surge of arousal and want ripped through his body when spotting the shadow of hunger flickering in the bluest eyes.</p><p>There was some restraint as well, but he saw that Hastings was on the verge of falling for his desires, and while almost faltering with anticipation, he made the subtlest move towards Hastings’ face, towards his perfectly shaped lips, and as he parted his own, it must’ve snapped in Hastings’ mind for he leaned forward and joined their lips in a kiss the both of them yearned for.</p><p>Nothing and nobody could’ve stopped Poirot from kissing Hastings back. Maybe a bit clumsily, maybe a bit overenthusiastically, but still his soul roared at the touch of their lips, at the final confirmation of Hastings’ feelings for him.</p><p>Hastings wanted him! resonated in his mind.</p><p>Him whom got scarcely realized by people to be somebody else than a priest! And here they were, Hastings gently kissing him, yet the both of them sensing the underlying urgency covered by the tenderness. It showed in the almost violent grip Poirot had on Hastings’ jacket, while the fingers of his other hand slipped behind Hastings’ neck, being woven into his brown hair.</p><p>He tastes like heaven, a highly inappropriate thought crossed Poirot’s mind even though he felt that it was true as he had never felt so good as when being kissed by the man of his dreams.</p><p>Despite being overwhelmed by Hastings, by the warmth of his body, of his touch, of the soft delicacy of his lips… despite it all he could guess why the Englishman slowly ended their kiss and drew back, yet without releasing Poirot from his gentle grasp.</p><p>“I… I’m sorry… I wanted… to do it but I’ve forgotten that…” his voice cracking, hesitant, yet bearing the most exciting edge of arousal.</p><p>Poirot saw the honestly meant apology in his eyes.</p><p>“…that you probably aren’t allowed to… to kiss somebody, I mean…”</p><p>The remorse echoing within Hastings’ tone made Poirot think once again about this issue, whether he was sure about that, whether he was decided to throw everything out of the window for one single night with Hastings, but then… He couldn’t even imagine that he would never again see this kind-hearted young man again.</p><p>“I know... I know,” he said quietly, his head being laid upon Hastings’ chest, he felt it was heaving, he kept touching Hastings’ hair, feeling the strong manly body underneath him… The physical temptation was grand, but when Hastings began soothingly painting circles on his back, when he heard his slowing breath, when he again noticed the subtle perfume, those were the little things due to which Poirot fell for Hastings for the last and definitive time.</p><p>Slipping his eager hand under Hastings’ jacket, he looked up to the surprised blue eyes, and with determination in his voice and everlasting love in his touch when he brushed Hastings’ cheek, he spoke up, “I know, mon cheri, that I am forbidden to lie down with anybody, and to lie down with another man is an unforgivable sin, but you… mon cher Hastings… Arthur! I have already sinned for being desperately in love with you.”</p><p>Hastings tried not to be convinced, he thought to reason with Poirot about his position and his future, yet it was no use as Poirot’s revelation aimed at his honest heart, making him smile the sweetest, happiest smile in the whole world.</p><p>“I’ve fallen in love with you, too,” he revealed, eyes caressing Poirot with the adoration shining in them, “but how did I reproach myself for it… Not only I’ve fallen for a man, but for a priest! Sincerely I… I cannot believe you understand me.”</p><p>“I do,” Poirot nodded as he knew perfectly what Hastings was struggling with. “I might have never let anything happen weren’t you in such distress about leaving, and I about parting with you.”</p><p>Hastings’ smile broadened, eyes still unbelievably soft.</p><p>“As I have said, my dear friend, you are always welcome in London,” he repeated his offer, “For how long you’d wish.”</p><p>London and Hastings… such a combination seemed at most alluring to Poirot, and therefore, he decided to value this option. But that could wait till… till Hastings was away, to which they still had the whole evening, night, and a part of morning.</p><p>“I see you’re thinking about it,” commented Hastings on Poirot’s silence cheerfully, “It’d be splendid. We could find a common place to live together and… and… solve cases together!”</p><p>Well, that was an idea! Poirot raised his eyebrows at the suggestion as it had also crossed his mind, yet he wanted to devote more time to it before genuinely considering it an option.</p><p>“Maybe, Arthur, maybe,” he assented quietly, smiling gently at this eager Englishman who was evidently as madly in love with him as Poirot happened to be with Hastings. “But I have some work to be done here before I opt for it.”</p><p>“I understand,” nodded the man thoughtfully. “As finishing new sermons, advising your people in here…”</p><p>“That too, of course,” twitched a corner of Poirot’s lips and a twinkle of mischief sparkled in his eyes, “but I was rather talking about you, mon cher Arthur.”</p><p>And this one particular hint, Hastings interpreted flawlessly. Hunger returned to his blue eyes when his lips parted, which Poirot couldn’t endure anymore. He tugged on Hastings’ shirt, nudging the younger man closer, so they could kiss once again, and this time, Poirot was more daring and let his fingers bury in Hastings’ hair. He opened his mouth slightly to lick on Hastings’ lower lip, making him shudder so violently it struck Poirot with the most powerful wave of arousal.</p><p>It had been so long since he was genuinely turned on and in need of a man’s body. Pressing in Hastings, he gasped for air when feeling something hardening against his lower stomach, and at that point, he was almost instantly hard as well.</p><p>It felt so marvellous to be kissed by Hastings’. He was gentle, yet his kisses didn’t lack any passion as he was entirely robbing Poirot of his breath, making his lips slightly swollen once he drew back, his eyes hazy and starving.</p><p>“I want you,” he said and Poirot closed his eyes at the sound of it, at the pure want in the husky voice, yet still he was melting on the inside due to the tenderness of Hastings’ hands, placed upon his cheeks.</p><p>In another moment, he again looked at the younger man, feeling all hot and eager, he absolutely adored how delicate Hastings was when being horny, and yet so demanding to some extent. Poirot couldn’t remember the the last time somebody wanted him, and when he actually needed somebody as much as he desired Hastings right now.</p><p>Fighting off the urge to look down, to see the slightly flushed skin of Hastings’ neck and even to let his gaze slide lower to assure himself that the younger man was as hard as him, Poirot bit his lower lip for a split second before he declared, “I want you, too, Hastings… In every possible way the word <em>want</em> suggests.”</p><p>Fire flashed in Hastings’ eyes.</p><p>“But unlike during our first meeting, I would prefer you to be the guide on our following journey,” he added, curling his lips in a playful smile that Hastings rewarded with a quiet chuckle.</p><p>“I’d be honoured,” was Hastings’ following smile warm and loving. “Still, I… I need to know… your experience in this matter,” he managed to stutter out, and Poirot couldn’t tear his gaze away from the adorable pinkish tone that his cheeks were gaining.</p><p>“My dear Hastings, there were some encounters in the past, but... I trust yours to be far more recent than any of mine,” Poirot said, while subconsciously caressing Hastings’ chest through the layer of his shirt and internally keening to feel Hastings’ skin right under his touch.</p><p>How could anyone possibly resist Hastings when being so sheepish, so ashamed, yet so gloriously aroused, thought Poirot when his younger companion went for another search for words, darting from one Poirot’s eye to the other before looking down, asserting quietly, “I guess…. I guess that’d be right,” he said hesitantly, probably unwilling to believe that a man of cloth wasn’t condemning him for being with a man. “After all, it was easier to… approach men with similar tendencies here… in Belgium than in England… but neither of them was anything like you!”</p><p>The last part of his utterance was said in haste as if to convince Poirot that he wasn’t as sinful as he might’ve appeared, but Poirot couldn’t help himself but to feel only more enamoured by Hastings… by experienced, young and desired Englishman… by Hastings who was looking at him with urgency and devoted love Poirot had never witnessed to be so intense, so honest, and thanks to that Poirot felt safe with him. He trusted him, and therefore he heard himself say, “So I believe you to know how to please a man…”</p><p>Hastings gave a shaky exhale. Nodding bravely, his next question still bore only insecurity and disbelieve, “You… you really want… me?”</p><p>“I do, Arthur, I do,” Poirot smiled at his friend who beamed at him, visibly relaxing at the gentle touch on his face. Upon that, he reached up and kissed Hastings with all the love he felt for him, before he whispered, “Let’s take us to the bedroom.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The next part is going to be very, very explicit...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I love them so much...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Gladly,” breathed Hastings out, allowing to be taken by a hand and lead to another room. Poirot then closed the door behind them, and slightly nervous, he looked at his bed that wasn’t quite large, but it should serve its certainly unexpected purpose.</p><p>Facing Hastings, he returned his hand upon his chest, looking up as in question, but he found only fondness and excitement in the blue eyes. Despite that, Poirot kept watching his expression while deftly unbuttoning Hastings’ shirt and sliding his hands underneath it to feel the warm skin. Once he got to his ribs, Hastings whimpered and shivered, which brought another smile to Poirot’s lips.</p><p>This young man was adorably sensitive, he noted, marvelling at another sound Hastings made, yet he didn’t want to tease him much, so he rather took hold of the shirt and jacket, and walking around Hastings, he helped him from the mentioned piece of clothes from behind.</p><p>Having it folded on the chair, only then he allowed himself to fully enjoy the look at half-naked Hastings whom was standing in the middle of his room, willing, waiting. There was a subtle amusement in his expression with which he was observing Poirot neatly arranging his clothes, but as Poirot pointed his attention to him, a cute shade of pink crept from his pale chest to his neck and cheeks.</p><p>Before he could even realize what he was doing, Poirot got his hands back on Hastings’ torso, feeling warmth of the skin, and as his desire was growing with each and every second he spent with Hastings, he wasn’t able to refrain from putting his lips on the Englishman, kissing his collar bone, and then the other one, moving up to his neck and the Adam’s apple until he wasn’t kissing Hastings’ jaw, and then his lips that answered to his worship-like ministrations with fervour.</p><p>The sharp inhales, wet sounds of their lips sliding against each other’s, and Hastings broad hands on his back, holding them unbelievably closer. The moment filled with animalistic want didn’t last for long as Hastings comprehended he could do something with Poirot’s clothes as well, yet it only reminded Poirot that the lust was breathtakingly mutual.</p><p>But then, as abruptly as by the snap of fingers, Hastings ceased from all the restlessness, settling for a respectful cautiousness when he grasped the rosary hanging around Poirot’s neck and pulled it over his head. Looking at it for a second, puzzled, thoughtful, he lay it on the closest cabinet.</p><p>He didn’t ask Poirot once again whether he was sure as he only smiled, reassuringly, which hit Poirot hard in his soul, yet he was struggling to understand why. He wasn’t used to be confused like that, but the whole atmosphere was successfully depriving him of rational thinking, and therefore, he adhered to what he had said, and let Hastings overtake the initiative.</p><p>It was slightly unnerving to just stand here, being watched and taken care of, but the interest flickering in Hastings’ eyes helped him relax. The younger man seemed mesmerized by his task to unwrap Poirot from his layers, and even though Poirot had his doubts, Hastings’ expression shifted back to utterly hungry one when he had a full view at Poirot’s upper body.</p><p>“Take the rest off,” he said, making Poirot shiver to the core of his bones as his voice wasn’t nothing else but a growl. Hastings himself focused on removing his shoes, socks, and he also got rid of his trousers, so once Poirot had his attention again, he could literally bathe in Hastings’ admiration, shining from his blue eyes.</p><p>“Good Lord…” were the only words Hastings was capable of, stepping closer to Poirot and without a preamble, he put his hand on his by a thin layer covered arousal, giving the hard member a touch Poirot didn’t even know he needed so much.</p><p>Sighing contently, he gripped on Hastings’ shoulder for support as the touch, and then another one… he wasn’t used to be touched so intimately! Taken aback by the force of desire coiling in his belly, he moved his hips forward in search for more of Hastings’ hand that willingly gave him a few more strokes.</p><p>“Good Lord, Poirot,” those repeated words made it finally through the midst, fogging Poirot’s brain.</p><p>“Something wrong, mon ami?” he managed, gathering at least some self-control to gaze up to see what appeared to be the issue Hastings was surprised by.</p><p>But upon that, what he could see was only the man’s utterly blessed expression, while his eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted.</p><p>“Not wrong… not at all,” he said, blinking at Poirot playfully before he leaned into him to brush his lips upon Poirot's ear, making him tremble with such a gesture, whispering, “You’re just perfect, my friend… Just perfect… But as you’ve given me lead, I was wondering how we should do it… and now I know.”</p><p>Also closing his eyes, literally enveloped by Hastings, being touched by him, having their naked chests pressing into each other, taking in the lust-filled words… It felt like too much and not enough, it was overwhelming, so Poirot again managed just a few words, “I think I do not quite follow you, mon cheri.”</p><p>Nuzzling at Poirot’s temple, Hastings kept stroking Poirot’s hard-on as if he couldn’t keep his hands away from him, contributing to the impression by saying, “I’m saying that I’m not going to sodomize you, but the other way around… Hercule… the other way around because you’ve been hiding this remarkable piece of art from the world for far too long.”</p><p>That change in Hastings’ behaviour together with his words sent Poirot’s blood boiling. Unable to refrain from being affected by it, a moan ripped through his throat as he dug his nails into Hastings’ shoulders. Hearing his own name said in such a sensual tone, learning that Hastings wanted him to… to have him inside of him…</p><p>He was so hard he couldn’t remember being so aroused in his whole life, and he shivered anew as those hot lips grazed his earlobe, letting him know that despite Hastings voiced his wish to be the receiving one, he was fully in charge… the stronger one, the dominant one, and suddenly the at most confident one as it seemed that when it came to sex, Hastings certainly knew what he was doing.</p><p>“Hastings… Arthur,” Poirot’s tone underwent a huge change, becoming just a plea, reacting to Hastings’ decision to move his hand into Poirot’s underwear, taking his erection in his palm and allowing the broad, yet soft warmth to unite with the hard heat. “Yes!” he exclaimed and unorganized, he somehow nudged Hastings so he would turn his face towards him, making it possible for them to kiss as if their lives depended on it.</p><p>Poirot couldn’t shake off the idea that Hastings was literally trying to devour him, that he was utterly lost in the moment, in their intimacy, unable to cease from wanting more, which kept casting Poirot in silent, internal awe.</p><p>“Bed,” he murmured while being hungrily kissed by the younger man, whose hand was still touching him so delicately and so beautifully he might’ve started to doubt whether it really could be sinful… The both of them loved it, they wanted it, and judging from the eagerness they got to their destination with, there was literally nothing that could possibly stop them.</p><p>In the next few moments, they were laying on the bed stark naked, Hastings atop Poirot, licking his way into his mouth once again while with one strong arm he managed to support himself as the other one took Poirot’s breath away by bringing their arousals together, stroking them together, making them feel how hard the both of them were, how horny they were…</p><p>Decadent as the whole act was, Poirot enthusiastically welcomed everything Hastings came up with, so once the Englishmen slowed down and asked whether there was something he could use to make things smoother, Poirot didn’t hesitate for a second, knowing exactly what Hastings was suggesting.</p><p>“The second drawer,” he answered readily, yet only then he realized how short of breath he was. And how raw his voice sounded. “It’s written on the label…”</p><p>“You are quite well prepared,” smirked Hastings when he found the bottle. “It’s on the prescription, I believe?”</p><p>“Naturally,” nodded Poirot, sitting up and leaning his back against the headboard. “I use it for my hands… They are often sore in the winter and this is the only solution keeping them from being utterly dry.”</p><p>“I can imagine that,” replied Hastings cheekily, grinning at Poirot while getting back to the bed where his courage didn’t falter in the slightest. Without hesitation, he put his knees outside Poirot’s tights, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss atop his lips.</p><p>Every possible hint of annoyance evaporated from Poirot’s chest when the handsome man was so close to him again, and his erection was pressing to his stomach. He didn’t waste a second and took him into his palm, savouring the feeling of touching the hot arousal and causing Hastings pleasure, making him moan softly in response.</p><p>His hips canted forward, seeking more friction, and Hastings’ grin shifted into a happy smile before he threw his head back, revealing his lean neck.</p><p>“Keep it slow and steady, otherwise I’ll be done too quickly,” he sighed then, warning his lover, and Poirot reciprocated his smile and nodded, paying attention not to speed the pace up. He would’ve loved to see Hastings on the edge, but he had to wait because… because he was keen to bring Arthur pleasure by being inside of him.</p><p>But that made him wonder whether… whether…</p><p>“Arthur, wouldn’t… wouldn’t it be too… big?” he asked unusually sheepishly and at Hastings’ slightly puzzled look, he gazed down to his own crotch, but once he again locked their eyes, fire lit up within his chest because of Hastings’ utterly ferocious grin.</p><p>“Not for me, Hercule,” his eyes narrowed as if he was looking at his prey, “Not for me,” he repeated. Suddenly breathless, he gently took Poirot’s face and brought their lips together, making Poirot moan at the passion Arthur kissed him with, the hunger, the vigour… the love…</p><p>“I want you inside me,” he whispered between the kisses, and again pushed his hips into Poirot’s hand, while devoting a few touches to Poirot’s hard-on to stress the point. “I want your big beautiful erection in me!”</p><p>Poirot had never expected that such talks he could’ve ever considered hot, but they were. His desire to be inside Hastings only grew at the expression, at the loud revelation of what Hastings’ craved, and he desperately needed to fulfil his wishes.</p><p>“I want it, too… I want to feel you… from the inside,” he tried to talk in similar fashion as well, and according to the younger man’s glottal sound, he succeeded.</p><p>Withdrawing from the kiss, Hastings flashed him with a moderately apologetic look, but promise was written all over his face, so Poirot waited patiently for him to open the bottle and bring some lube upon his fingers. In the meantime Poirot caressed his chest, his ribs, his stomach, taking in the view, memorizing it, savouring it…</p><p>“I’ll start, but… you can help if you want to,” Hastings sent another warm smile to his lover, and then he shoved his hand behind his back, yet remarkably lower where he touched the particular spot of which Poirot knew very well was the place he was going to touch Hastings in the most intimate way. The forbidden way.</p><p>For a few seconds, Poirot worried whether it wasn’t uncomfortable, even painful for Hastings to put his fingers in… in him, but he panted, utterly caught off guard by Hastings’ subsequent smug expression, signalling he was already enjoying himself. And Poirot wasn’t sure why, but the thought of it rushed more blood into his lower parts, making the urge to touch himself uncontrollable. So he gave in.</p><p>Watching Hastings preparing himself for the intercourse, he stroked his own erection and produced a low groan at the combination of it, but mostly at the fact that Hastings didn’t hold his own reactions back. Poirot wouldn’t have expected the shy man putting on a show when doing something forbidden, yet here they were, Hastings biting his lower lip for a moment before he threw his head back again, hair ruffled, his chest heaving as his fingers were working their way inside him where… where…</p><p>It didn’t take much of contemplation for Poirot to keep slowly stroking his hard-on while he reached for Hastings with his other hand, and upon giving him a few strokes as well, utterly loving the feeling of his erection sliding through his palm, he ventured further. He cupped gently his testicles, smirking as Hastings gasped in surprise, and then the younger man violently shivered once Poirot headed further, putting his finger right at the place where he was going to be, where Hastings was stretched around his own fingers, where he was preparing himself and already giving himself pleasure from being filled.</p><p>“Poirot!” sighed Hastings, which Poirot interpreted as an encouragement to caress the rim, and as his stunning lover groaned loudly, he slid his finger next to Hastings’ pair, experiencing the tight heat in him, how slick he was, how open and hungry…</p><p>“Poirot!” moaned Hastings again, and once Poirot managed to tear his gaze away Hastings’ groin, his looked up to lock their eyes, lust between them almost palpable. “I need you inside…”</p><p>Upon saying this, he withdrew his fingers, Poirot’s following them out, and then Hastings positioned himself above Poirot’s crotch. He was able to vividly see desire blazing in his eyes, those swollen red lips, parted and shining with saliva, and Poirot wordlessly watched as Hastings pointed his erection up before he began pushing it into his… his… into him.</p><p>Shaking in anticipation, he felt need to help Hastings, maybe to slow him down, so he planted his hands on his hips, easing him down ever so gently, but once he glanced to Hastings’ face, his eagerness took his breath away. He was so horny, so keen to be filled by… by another man’s erection that it made Poirot lick his lips as immense desire to fulfil his wish washed over his heated body.</p><p>He let Hastings get the full length inside, let him accommodate, but the happy grin splayed upon his face was quite self-explanatory. Poirot wasn’t far from being happy as well when he was so delicately squeezed by Hastings’ muscles, while knowing that he was actually very deep in him, stretching him, and Hastings seemed utterly ecstatic about it, getting up and pushing Poirot’s hard-on back in him, pleasure gleaming in his half-lidded eyes.</p><p>“You are… you are utterly beautiful, mon cheri… mon Arthur…” Poirot breathed out when staring at his lover, at his sweaty chest, at his erection, hard and begging for attention which Poirot provided it once he used his other hand to grip on Hastings’ shoulder, nudging him to bow down. With love and passion he kissed Arthur, his beautiful, kind friend whom resembled an angel, yet was corrupted in the most delicious way.</p><p>Poirot moved his hips up, bringing their lower parts together and making Arthur moan into the kiss. Burying his fingers in his hair, Poirot kissed Hastings deeply, letting him know that he was being taken by another man who adored him, who wanted him, and who was just sodomizing him as he thrust again in him, making Hastings pull slightly away from him, laying his forehead against Poirot’s.</p><p>“Yeah… just like that, Poirot… you’re… you’re totally unbelievable…” he said with eyes buried in Poirot’s, allowing him to see all the lust and pleasure he was experiencing. “You’re… you’re perfect,” and adding this, he positioned his ass so he was able to push back better to meet Poirot’s thrusts that were making him see stars.</p><p>“You’re just perfect,” he repeated with Poirot’s erection deep in him, managing to kiss Poirot clumsily before he unavoidably got lost in the act, literally riding Poirot, squeezing him inside, and Poirot soon gave up on his movements as Hastings was eager to… to fuck himself on Poirot’s dick as fast and hard and deep as he wanted, sentencing Poirot only to watch him, to savour the sight of him, but once Hastings reached for his erection, Poirot brushed his hand away as he was determined to take care of him, giving him fast, firm strokes, so it was only a matter of seconds before Hastings orgasmed on the top of him.</p><p>And when seeing the handsome beautiful man peaking in front of him, atop him, when seeing the immense pleasure in every feature of his face, he ejaculated as well. Deep in him. Deep in Arthur who wanted him there, who almost begged to have him inside, and to make the both them sin...</p><p>…but when shaking through his orgasm, Poirot couldn’t care less. His whole body was on fire, his mind blank, and his soul at peace. He loved it. He relished these pleasures of body, these pleasures he wasn’t allowed, yet still shared with Arthur who came down to him, gently laying himself next to Poirot, placing a few loving kisses at his still heaving chest.</p><p>“Don’t you regret it?” asked the Englishman after a while, voice cracking.</p><p>Poirot didn’t know whether to sigh tiredly or laugh. Somewhere deep… yes, he regretted it. He sinned. He violated the oath he had taken. He failed and there was only one path possible for him. He wouldn’t have been able to continue his work... Greed, gluttony, pride - all of these were sins he was indulging in, and he knew it, but… celibacy was meant to be his way of life.</p><p>And he was sure he wouldn’t be able to follow the rules of it when learning the pleasure which sleeping with Hastings could bring him. Moreover, he was lost in his blue eyes, in his kind and friendly attitude, in his love…</p><p>“In the end, Hastings, I certainly do not,” he heard himself saying, truthfully. “I am at peace with myself loving you.”</p><p>Arthur beamed at him, his eyes being two islands of sheer adoration and happiness.</p><p>“I am, too, at peace with loving you, Hercule,” smiling endearingly, he leaned into Poirot to plant a soft kiss upon his lips. “So… might it mean that you are contemplating going to London? With me?”</p><p>“Oh, Hastings, you’re the man of action, aren’t you?” Poirot chuckled. “Be patient, mon cheri. Go back to London and wait for me to wire you when I am ready. I have to take care of some things, maybe rekindle some favours in minds of my affluent friends… But yes, my plan to join you in England is pretty much intact.”</p><p>He admitted and for a brief second listened to that nagging voice, reproaching him for rushing things as he didn’t know Hastings at all, but he was already decided to sacrifice his career for him? For something that might be just a one-night-stand?</p><p>Poirot knew it was partially true, however… Despite finding a purpose of life in being a Father, leaving with Hastings was opening another career ahead of him. With a little bit of help from his friends, he indeed, should be able to establish a detective practise in London. His old friend Japp had said him numerous times that his little grey cells would make London good…</p><p>“You, my Arthur, and solving crimes in London… you’ve helped me to make a decision I’ve failed to do in the past. Who knows, I might’ve already been a detective, residing in Brussels or London, but, well… This just might be another road to London taken,” he added with a slightly nostalgic smile before he felt gentle fingers upon his cheek, caressing his ruined moustache. </p><p>“Just another road to London taken…”</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The last piece of this story is here, and I hope you'll enjoy it :) I admit, it's a bit too naive and simple, but everything doesn't have to be complicated... In future, I plan on writing something else with Poirot/Hastings as I have many ideas, yet time and energy are scarce in these days...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the end, the whole process stretched for three months, but in the middle of September, Poirot was on a train heading to London, recovering from the horrendous part of journey he had to take by a boat. Still, his spirits were rather high. He was looking forward to finally see the city of London, and of course, he couldn’t wait to reunite with Hastings. They had seen each other one more time after they had parted, and even though it was just for a couple of days, Poirot was only assured that he had never been so happy with anybody else in his whole life.</p><p>Their visit in Brussels gave Poirot the final nudge to speed up the things connected to the change of his occupation – he had to discuss his decision with the church. Building his letter to his superiors on the fact that he felt he was needed in a different sphere of endorsing morality, he provided them with the cases he had been working on in the past. He didn’t forget to mention he was about to move to England, which he thought mischievously must’ve enraged his Catholic superiors to such extend that they wanted to have the issue off their hands immediately.</p><p>In their eyes, the most horrible act he had done was converting to Protestantism (which wasn’t true, but…) so they quite quickly and willingly lifted the weight of his position off his shoulders, looking for his replacement right away. It went too smoothly to be true, but Poirot knew that the real punishments were hidden within his thoughts, within his doubts.</p><p>Refraining from lying to himself, he was well aware that he would’ve been able to resist Hastings were he decided to, but it seemed rather clear to him that the Englishman just had come in the perfect time, and Poirot took the opportunity to be swayed from his path in the most beautiful way. He fell in love, he sinned, he was no longer fit for being the Lord’s loyal servant… in other words, Hastings aided Poirot with a reason to move on.</p><p>It wasn’t as if he didn’t feel any remorse over leaving his group of believers, yet he was mildly surprised at the understanding reactions from some of them. Not only did they support his decision, they also admitted thinking that Poirot was too brilliant to live in their little village for he was born to achieve much greater things.</p><p>And it boosted Poirot’s ego immensely, convincing him to literally fall for his plan to become a private detective. He had already spread the word among his friends living in England, and he managed to send information on his past successful helpings to his friend journalist, hoping he could mention his name in the press. It wasn’t much, yet Poirot felt optimistic also thanks to the promised help from James Japp of Scotland Yard.</p><p>He and Hastings should await him at the railway station, on which Poirot stepped with nervous anticipation, looking around to spot the familiar faces. It didn’t take long before Poirot caught a glimpse of a tall man in a long beige coat. The symmetric moustache and a pair of unceasingly piercing eyes were invariable, so Poirot headed towards this man, while also trying to find a porter.</p><p>“Poirot!” exclaimed Japp once seeing his old friend.</p><p>“My dear Japp!”</p><p>The enthusiasm of the two men was totally mutual, and after Poirot greeted the policeman in a typical continental way, he added, “You have not changed a bit, mon ami.”</p><p>“Neither did you,” smiled Japped under his moustache that kept rendering his expression grave, yet this time his eyes were warm and revealing his true state of mind. “Maybe you look even younger, I say, for you literally beam. Is that you are so happy to be in London?”</p><p>“I certainly am,” answered Poirot, “I am already missing my home in Belgium, but I have always wished to see London, and therefore, here I am.”</p><p>“And I am here as well,” chuckled Japp, “However, I guess you must wonder why I make the only member of the welcoming committee.”</p><p>“That is correct, mon ami. Would you mind enlightening me on the subject matter?” he asked in good-humour, but in that second, a porter showed up at his side, demanding whether monsieur would possibly reveal his name to him for he was about to fetch him his luggage.</p><p>“Hercule Poirot,” he said to the boy whom apparently wished to voice another question, but Japp interrupted him:</p><p>“Remember the name, lad, because I am positive it’ll gain some glory in no time, and you’ll be honoured to tell the story of carrying luggage of a famous detective,” he winked at the boy who seemed insecure about the whole siatuation.</p><p>“Of course, sir,” he bowed nonetheless.</p><p>“Load it up in the police car in front of the station,” Japp further instructed him, waiting till the boy dashed after his tasks, and then he turned again to Poirot. “I’ve talked a bit over the phone with your friend Hastings, mainly discussing your options in England, but we agreed on meeting here to wait for you as well. It was only yesterday evening he wired me whether I’d be willing to see you on my own. There was something he was obliged to take care of. Still he should be finished by now as he is about to meet you in half an hour,” explained Japp with a look at his pocket watch.</p><p>While talking, they left the platform and going through the station, they headed for the only police car in sight. Porter just had been leaving the luggage with a policeman who probably arrived with Japp, and he began putting the cases in the boot.</p><p>“After you,” held Japp the car door open for Poirot, who with a slight bow got in, followed by Japp.</p><p>“Where are we going?” asked the second policeman once he returned to his seat behind the wheel.</p><p>“Whitehaven Mansion, sergeant,” Japp informed him before he glanced at Poirot, staring out of the window into a rather beautiful day. “Hastings should meet your there.”</p><p>As they navigated through the streets of London, Poirot kept looking out of the window, silently intrigued by everything he saw, yet his anticipation was growing with each minute as the moment of being with Arthur once again was approaching. But still, he was quite talkative as he was also glad to see Japp.</p><p>“I shall be able to forward some cases to you, but you cannot expect anything big at the beginning, my friend,” Japp warned him, and who knows, it might’ve been in the slightly ironic stare Poirot bestowed him with that the policeman added evasively, “Well… eh… I might ask for your help at something quite tricky and full of riddles you’re so passionate about… We have no time for this… or sometimes there are clients that think they can buy everything with their money, so… With my recommendation, they actually may buy your services instead.”</p><p>Poirot liked this idea more than the original one, smiling mildly at his friend whom seemed almost relived.</p><p>“We’re here,” he said then, and the sergeant pulled over in front of a remarkably shaped building painted in glistening variants of black and white. The both policemen helped Poirot to put his luggage on the pavement, and before his departure, Japp stopped with Poirot for a second, “Good to see you settling here, Poirot. The city needs somebody like you, which I believe I have already told you.”</p><p>“Indeed, you did,” smiled Poirot at his friend, the emerging feeling of anxiety from being in a completely foreign place being slightly consoled by Japp’s words. “Then I hope we’ll see each other soon.”</p><p>“We will,” Japp agreed and with an awkward, yet sincerely meant smile he returned to the car, “Hastings should be here any minute,” he informed Poirot at last, leaving him then on his own.</p><p>And Poirot, despite being thrilled to actually be in London and to reunite with his beloved Hastings, the suffocating feeling of standing alone in the middle of an unknown place wasn’t pleasant in the slightest. Looking around, admiring the nearby park, he felt homesick, yet he knew that such emotions were utterly natural.</p><p>Accepting them, he turned to the building called Whitehaven Mansions. It was literally calling for his attention. Without all doubts, Poirot found the view at it at most comforting for its admirable and of course, very much logical symmetry.</p><p>Yes, in the future, he was able to easily imagine taking one of these flats as not only did he like the outer visual of the building, but also the view from the front windows must been quite pleasing because of the mentioned park.</p><p>For some reason, once he heard a sound of a violent use of brakes, his heart gave a leap. Turning around, his young, tall, fit, handsome, and so endearingly kind, loving, and honest Arthur jumped out of a car, and with a broad grin, he rushed towards Poirot.</p><p>“Hastings!” Poirot exclaimed in the overwhelming feeling of happiness, throwing his arms around his lover, however, well aware of being in public, he settled for greeting him in the continental way, even though it wasn’t easy to resist kissing Arthur on the mouth.</p><p>“Poirot! I’m so happy to see you,” shone Hastings’ blue eyes with everlasting adoration, yet Poirot saw quite well he had to curb his emotions as well for he probably desired to greet his dearest friend in a slightly more intimate manner. “How was your journey?” he opted for asking, stepping aside, which Poirot welcomed for the moment. It ceased the power of temptation.</p><p>“Bearable,” he answered, earning a goofy smile from the younger man. “Yet upon seeing you, mon cheri, everything seems less of a horrifying matter.”</p><p>“I’m glad you’ve survived the experience in high-spirits,” Hastings kept smiling, watching every Poirot’s feature, every twitch of his facial expression as if he still wasn’t able to believe that they really were in London. Together.</p><p>“And I am glad to be with you, Arthur,” Poirot reciprocated the tenderness which Hastings was looking at him with, but to avoid any necessary attention from the passer-byes, Poirot nudged his head towards the building. “Why have you arranged to meet here?”</p><p>“Well…” Hastings flushed a little, “When I’ve learnt you contacted your friend at Scotland Yard, I reached for him as well, discussing the possibilities you have here. And he also asked whether my flat is symmetric enough as otherwise you’ll be very anxious about it…” he scratched his scalp nervously, eyes fixed upon the building. “So I made some arrangements in my flat, but my housemaid wasn’t satisfied, and we.. well… I had to ask Japp to pick you up as I had to reposition a few pictures… and taking in consideration I was awaiting an important packaged… It only seemed wise to meet you somewhere you could at least please your eyes with something nice. Something symmetric.”</p><p>Poirot might’ve been expecting anything being the reason behind Hastings’ delay, but he definitely didn’t foresee this. Staring at him, his heart was aching with love, yet mind reeling with disbelief that somebody would do so much about his… his… totally understandable requirements which, however, others rather perceived as quirks!</p><p>“Do you not approve?” asked Hastings, insecure about Poirot’s silence.</p><p>“Do not fret yourself, mon cheri, I am merely taken aback by your endeavours to please me,” shook Poirot his hand upon placing his hand on Hastings’ shoulder in a soothing gesture, “You needn’t have to do it… We would’ve figured something out together, Hastings.”</p><p>“I… I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t decide to move into a hotel upon seeing my modest flat,” he shrugged, abashed, but his face lit up thanks to Poirot’s words.</p><p>“A modest man living in a modest flat, yet he can afford a housemaid,” teased him Poirot a bit before he turned to his luggage, suggesting they should put it in the car.</p><p>“Of course,” agreed Hastings enthusiastically, snatching two of the cases and heading for his car. “I possess some savings… I bought this car and also, I’m terrible at cooking, so I hired Miss Lemon. She’s a decent cook, but I reckon that a position of a secretary would suit her better. She has literally no imagination in terms of flavours, which I do not mind, but I’m afraid, you won’t approve of her cooking… but I trust her that for today, she’s done her best to prepare her famous meal,” Hastings explained while loading his car up with Poirot’s belongings. Then he opened the door for his dearest friend, hopped behind the wheel himself, and with an excited smile, navigated to his flat.</p><p>There wasn’t anything luxurious about Hastings’ dwelling at all, however, Poirot wasn’t as sullen about it as he would’ve supposed to be. Taking in consideration he had spent the past years in a cold church, he might’ve accepted everything where he wouldn’t freeze during the winters, while these demands Hastings’ flat seemed to meet. It was cosy, warm, and Poirot’s nose was tickled by a very pleasant smell of pork.</p><p>Hastings left the luggage in the hall, following Poirot to the kitchen where he was lured by the smell as well.</p><p>“We should probably warm it up a bit,” he said and Poirot nodded, quickly managing to figure out what to push and turn, sending then a little predatory smile at Hastings who involuntarily shivered.</p><p>Hastings then showed Poirot his official room, the bathroom and the common room where Poirot had to smile at the pictures, being precisely put in the right places, so they would ensure the idea of symmetricity in the whole room.</p><p>“Well… you’ve mentioned in your letters that you are free of the church… Is it true? I mean…” stammered Hastings slightly, but Poirot comprehended.</p><p>“I know what you mean, mon ami,” he cut him off with an impatient gesture of his hand while he continued examining the room, realizing that a fine new working desk was placed in the corner, clean and ready to be used. “It is true that I am no longer the enforcer of the faith, and striving to be a successful enforcer of the law. Still it is partially colliding with my… our,” he casted a fond look at Hastings, “tendencies, but with that, I hope I can live.”</p><p>“I say, Poirot, that is splendid,” sounded Hastings immensely pleased, and a bit relived, “Shall I be your assistant then?” he asked excitedly.</p><p>“Assistant? No, I don’t think so, Hastings,” Poirot shook his head, “I think an associate would do better as I do not wish to employ you, mon cheri. This wouldn’t be the companionship I’d envisioned.”</p><p>“Poirot…” sighed Hastings, his voice so soft it made Poirot’s hard throb when he looked at his lover, approaching him slowly and taking his hands into his. “I’m looking forward for the things we’ll do together. I certainly do.”</p><p>“Me, too, Arthur. Me too,” Poirot’s tone gentled as well as his eyes, watching Hastings with all the love he felt for him, “I’m glad you’ve come to my life in the best time possible. Without you, I might’ve never taken the leap.”</p><p>Smiling lovingly, Hastings sniffed the air with a hungry expression.</p><p>“I think the meal’s finished,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’ve fetched us also a dessert. It was the package I’ve been waiting for…”</p><p>“That is very good, Hastings,” Poirot agreed, yet dragging one of his hand from Hastings’ ones, he planted it on his chin, “but I can think of a tastier, more tempting dessert right now…”</p><p>Flushed and taken aback, Hastings smiled, eyes dropped to the ground for a second, but then he licked his lips and locked their eyes again, making Poirot shudder with the emerging lust between them.</p><p>“Well, the best Belgian chocolate might wait, right?” he leaned closer and Poirot finally felt his bodily heat, which made his knees weak.</p><p>“For this instance, yes,” Poirot conceded playfully as he adored Belgian chocolate and was thrilled that Hastings bought it for him, yet after the lunch, there wasn’t anything that could stop him from devouring Hastings like he had wanted for the last three months. And since he wasn’t a priest anymore, his guilt from feeling pride, enjoying quality meals, and enjoying Hastings was slowly dying out.</p><p>Minimizing the remaining distance between them, Poirot gently kissed Hastings, relishing the feeling of his lips pressing to his own, savouring the second Arthur hugged him around the waist, bringing their bodies together, so he could once again get lost in his arms, in his scent, in his love…</p><p>There was a difficult and bumpy road ahead of them, full of dangers, possible denial and fear from being discovered, however, Poirot believed that even a thorny road is paved with love and devotion, rendering the journey priceless, and definitely worth it to be walked on.</p><p>Similarly as this another winding road to London he had taken…</p>
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